


If and When

by Zimra



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, F/M, Pre-Canon, Robert's Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 03:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17317529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: Davos returns home for the first time after the Sack of King's Landing, afraid of what he will find there.





	If and When

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not actually in this fandom and haven't read anything past the beginning of book 3, so thanks to Juliana (jubah) for all her help with characterization and consistency.

Davos hadn’t stopped praying once during the whole voyage. Either someone was listening to him, or he’d just gotten lucky, for the wind had been with them - his crew had never made the journey from Storm’s End to King’s Landing so quickly before. Of course, that hadn’t stopped it from feeling like forever, and no amount of work had fully distracted him from thoughts of what he might see when he arrived. 

He was still praying as he hurried through the narrow, winding streets that remained as familiar to him as the deck of his own ship. But the scenes of destruction he saw drove all thoughts of individual gods from his mind, and the prayers turned into a stream of constant, directionless begging. 

_Please please please let them be alright please please please…_

After all the stories he’d heard from Lord Stark’s men, Davos had expected the worst, but not even the most embellished tale could beat seeing it with his own two eyes. Buildings had been partially or completely burned down, doors and shutters smashed, walls stained with blood and scorch marks. He did not look at all out of place in the street with his bandaged hand; most of the people he passed were hurt in some way, and many bore more serious injuries than his.

_The people._ Flea Bottom contained more than its fair share of suffering at the best of times, but Davos had never before seen so much misery in one place. Families whose homes had been destroyed beyond all use tended their wounded on street corners, or laid their dead out under ragged blankets amid the ruins. Two children slept huddled together in the husk of a burned-out house, wrapped in a blood-stained Lannister cloak. The soldier they’d taken it from lay not far away, his corpse trapped under a collapsed wall, bloated and gathering flies. A young woman in a torn dress was sweeping up the remains of some smashed crockery outside of a brothel. Someone had beaten her so badly that Davos almost didn’t recognize her, even though he’d known Aianne since they were both homeless urchins, long before he’d taken up smuggling and she whoring. 

Torn between a desperate need to see his family and dread at what he might find when he reached them, Davos cursed and prayed and ran. 

He rounded the corner onto the narrow street where Marya and the children lived, and stopped short in the middle of the road, his breath choked off in horror. All the buildings on their side of the street had been reduced to little more than charred ruins, and he saw no sign of anyone taking shelter in the wreckage. 

Stunned, Davos sank to his knees right there in the street, unable to venture any closer. Would he find the bodies of his young sons, burned or butchered in the remains of their home? And Marya…she had been heavily pregnant when Davos had seen her last, close enough to her time that she’d surely given birth while he was away. He didn’t want to think about the sorts of things angry soldiers turned loose to wreak havoc might have done to a young woman and a newborn, but he couldn’t banish the gruesome images from his head. 

“Davos?” a hoarse voice called. He stumbled to his feet as he saw someone emerge from one of the houses on the other side of the street, which seemed to have escaped significant damage. Marya’s friend Carice, a kindly woman of perhaps thirty, bore several fading bruises on her neck and face, and as she hurried towards him he noticed that she was limping. 

“Are you alright?” He held out his good arm to steady her, but she waved him away impatiently. 

“Marya’s not here; she took the children to her father’s weeks ago. They were there during the attack, and went back after they saw what happened here.” Carice cast an angry glance at the ruined buildings. “They’re all alive, don’t worry. She told me to watch for you and tell you where to find them.” 

He thanked the woman fervently and helped her back to her door before hurrying away again, heading for the slightly more respectable part of town where Marya’s father lived. Its wider streets were not quite as crowded as the dregs, but he still saw signs of destruction everywhere he turned. 

By the time he reached the street where old Dale the carpenter plied his trade, Davos was sprinting flat-out. He turned the corner and lurched to a stop in the middle of the road, panting heavily. 

And there she was, a short, dark-haired woman in a shabby dress, kneeling as she cleared away the smashed remnants of the front door of her father’s house. Marya looked exhausted but unhurt, and his heart soared, though he noted with apprehension that she was no longer pregnant. Had the baby survived? And where were Dale and Allard?

His voice failed him twice before he finally managed to call out to her. “Marya!”

She whirled around and froze when she saw him, her brown eyes wide with shock. Then she dropped the fragments of wood she was holding and ran out into the street, throwing her arms around him and bursting into sobs. 

Light-headed with relief, Davos held his wife in his arms for the first time in months. “You’re not hurt? What about the boys?”

“I’m fine. They’re fine,” she assured him through her tears. “Father’s dead.”

He pulled her closer. “Gods, Marya, I’m sorry.” 

“After Prince Rhaegar died, he convinced me to bring the children here and stay with him until the war was over. I wasn’t sure what difference it would make, but I could tell he was worried about us, so I humored him. And good thing I did,” she said, making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “They burned half our street.”

“I saw,” he said gently. “That was the first place I looked for you.”

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” Marya said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “There didn’t seem any point in staying there, not when Father’s house was still standing. I asked the neighbors to keep an eye out for you and tell you where we were if you came looking.” She took a deep breath and continued her story in a steadier voice. 

“When we realized the city was being attacked, he told me to take the boys and hide in one of the bedrooms. I pushed the bed against the door and did my best to keep them quiet. After a while I heard shouting, and the sounds of people breaking into the house, but they didn’t come in far enough to find us - perhaps the Mother heard a few of my prayers,” she said bitterly. 

“I don’t know how long we stayed in there, too frightened to leave. But eventually the children got hungry, and things had been pretty quiet for a while, so I decided to go out and see what had happened.” Marya fought back a fresh wave of tears. “I found him lying across the threshold of the house, hacked almost to pieces. Looked like he’d been standing guard at the door, trying to fight off a group of soldiers with nothing but a hammer.”

Davos felt sick. Marya’s carpenter father had never much approved of him once he’d found out what Davos did for a living, even after they’d decided to name their firstborn after him as a sort of peace offering. But old Dale was a widower of many years and Marya his only child, and he loved her and her sons more than his own life - he’d proven that. 

“You had the baby?” he asked tentatively, hoping the change of subject would be welcome instead of prompting her to relive yet another tragedy. To his relief, Marya smiled through her tears. 

“Yes, about a month ago. Another son. He’s called Matthos.”

“A good name.” Davos kissed her - a thousand kisses would not have been enough to convey the full extent of his relief and elation, but this would have to do for now. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Dale and Allard will be so happy to see you,” she said, taking his hand to lead him inside. Then she felt the bandages and looked down, gasping at the sight of his stunted fingers. “What happened to your hand?” she cried.

“Lord Stannis Baratheon,” he said, grinning despite himself. “The penalty for smuggling, I’m afraid. He carried the sentence out personally.” 

He got as far as the trial and Lord Stannis’ first verdict before Marya broke in, furious. “You saved his life and the lives of everyone in that castle, and he punished you for _smuggling?_ The ungrateful little - why are you smiling?” 

“Do you want to know what he did next?” Marya frowned at him, but she crossed her arms and said nothing, so he continued. “He knighted me.”

She stared at her husband, looking as though she was not sure whether she wanted to laugh or hit him. “You’re not serious.”

He took her hand in his good right one. “I am. You’re looking at Ser Davos Seaworth - and that, my love, makes you _Lady_ Marya.”

Marya gripped his hand tightly, still lost for words. Before Davos could say anything else, a brown-haired child emerged from the house behind them at a run.

“Ma! Ma, the baby’s crying! I rocked him like you said to but it didn’t work!” The little boy called in his piping voice. He stopped in his tracks when he saw them, staring wide-eyed at his tearful mother and maimed father, then let out a shriek of pure delight and barreled forward into Davos’ legs. 

“Da!” Little Dale wrapped his arms around Davos and clung to him with a strength that belied his five years, only letting go to allow himself to be hoisted up into his father’s arms. “You’re back!”

“I’m back,” Davos said, grinning so hard his face started to hurt. “How are you, lad? Have you been helping your Ma and looking after your brothers like I told you?” 

Dale, now clinging like a limpet to his father’s neck, answered without loosening his grip. “Yes!” he said, his voice slightly muffled by Davos’ shirt. 

“He did,” Marya confirmed, ruffling Dale’s hair. Davos could tell she was struggling not to cry again, so he shifted Dale to one hip and put an arm around her, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She smiled shakily at him, wiping the tears from her eyes with a worn sleeve. 

“You have to meet the baby, Da,” Dale said, bouncing up and down a little. “He’s already getting bigger!”

Davos laughed and kissed the top of his son’s head. “Good. That’s what children are supposed to do. Well then, we’d better go inside and see to the little ones.” He slipped his free arm around Marya’s waist and drew her back towards the house. If his injured hand objected, he could hardly feel it.


End file.
